“Anything based on the masses, the herd, carries in itself the seeds of slavery. This crowd, which does not self-determine its values, is incapable of defining its own life.” — A.

I usually try to eschew labels: Sure, they’re useful, but let’s be honest—the world is too large a place, its cultures and creeds too diverse, its philosophies too many, its religions too vastly different. The notions of those cultures and creeds and philosophies and religions are simultaneously sweepingly broad and narrowly specific. No one “-ism” or “-ology” can contain the totality of useful and meaningful concepts that exist.

That being said, the alignment of my political and spiritual notions, as of late, have produced something I like to call anarcho-aristocracy.

Give me a moment to explain:

Anarcho-: I believe that, in the long run, the existence of the State (which, by the way, is not necessarily the same as government—see below), as well as the monopolization of the economy by rich elites via insatiable consumerist, corporate capitalism—both systems of which depend on hierarchical power structures—is detrimental to human progress and fulfillment. An equal, and yet dynamic, measure of freedom, and the potential to exercise it for the purpose of attaining well-being, should be allotted to all. The greatest possible of measure of freedom which can be apportioned to each person ought to be, so long as that apportionment does not allow individuals to interfere with the liberties of others. That being said, certain individuals are pre-disposed to certain abilities or areas of skill or expertise, and so in a society would tend towards practicing a particular task or set of tasks according to their abilities, as the demand for services in communities naturally inclines them. People may be equals legally, but they are not necessarily equals functionally. Someone who is good at mathematics can try to be a decent journalist, but he made not be as fit for the job as someone who has routinely studied The Chicago Manual of Style. Nonetheless, no person should be forced to do anything (unless they are violating the rights of another, in which case they should be made to stop their aggression), and all associations should [ideally] be as voluntary as possible. At the end of the day, it is up to the individual to decide how to live his or her life as he or she sees fit.

-aristocracy: This term, meaning “rule of the best”, often refers to rule by a privileged or ruling class. In an older sense, one used by the Greeks, it meant rule by those most qualified (those who were so merited for the job, being intelligent and/or skilled in an appropriate way). I use it in this sense. I also use it in the more philosophical-spiritual sense, as conceived of by Friedrich Nietzsche: Aristokratia, for Nietzsche, is a system in which the greatest among us (the “masters”) can achieve their greatness, becoming the crowning glory of the world through self-ennoblement, and thus advance the boundaries of human ability and what it means to “triumph”. This leaves the lower people (the “slaves”) to remain in an ignoble state. Nietzsche openly recognizes that some are, in a way, “meant” to become great, whereas others are not, and that that is the natural state of things. (His anti-egalitarianism is fairly apparent.) To me, this is not really a brutish notion so much as a simple truth: So long as humans remain in the state they are now (this assumes trans-humanism, in its fuller sense, never becomes a reality), they will always give in to their base desires and live as “slaves”, whereas others will triumph over themselves and the world and carry out their Wills. This statement is not a condemnation of freedom, but rather a recognition of the fact that throughout history there are those who consign themselves to baseness—and they have every right to, as free beings!—and there are those who find what is great in themselves, and enact that.

Here’s the gist: To bring these two ideas together means to recognize the inherent potential in all people—that potential can be recognized and achieved—and even all beings (if we’re being broad enough, and taking on the mantle of Buddhism…), at all times, to attain to greatness—whether one would call that “excellence,” “self-actualization,” “happiness,” “well-being,” or even “enlightenment.” All people should be given at least the measure of freedom necessary to achieve their own senses of fulfillment, and their personal capacities, without taking away freedom from anyone else. Realistically, not all people will fulfill their potentials, but we should not look down upon them for it. Things are as they are…

To clarify the concept of “the State”, I will paraphrase part of a cogent 2013 post by Skyler J. Collins at Everything-Voluntary: The State, according to libertarian thinker Stephen Kinsella, is the firm (group of individuals) which monopolizes the ability to provide governmental functions (“law and order”) in a society, making itself the arbiter of power and the “final word” in conflict settlement—even conflicts within or involving itself. This means that there is no “third party”, so to speak, to adjudicate conflicts regarding the State, making the State almost infallible, if not unchallengeable, when or if the time comes to question its ability to function properly as an institution which works (or is supposed to work) to provide freedom and happiness for those it governs.

This implies, simply, that the existence of the State creates a situation in which decision-makers—policy-makers and so forth—are too far removed from the effects of their decisions. This often leaves the brunt of the State’s failures to rest on the shoulders of citizens, and creates a class system in which a hierarchical difference exists between the rich and powerful—who remain at the top—and those whom the rich and powerful control—who remain, and suffer, at the bottom.

Closing this gap, by whittling down the State until it becomes indistinguishable from the citizenry, turns the vertical power structure into a horizontal one (the column into a row), in which all members of society are valued for their individuality, and in which all members may contribute to the maintenance of those societies of which they choose to be a part.

As Collins notes: “Monopolies are always an illegitimate arrangement of authority in society because nobody has the right to prevent others from providing any good or service of their choosing. This includes governmental services. … To be a consistent libertarian, a voluntaryist, or an anarchist is to oppose the monopoly of governmental services, i.e. the State, and to instead favor competing providers of law and order. It really is that simple.”

I would also go further to say that, in an ideal state (that’s with a little “s”), a society may even eliminate such “competing providers of law and order”, with individuals acting based on voluntary association, or based on a sort of constitution on an as-needed basis.

~

Voluntaryism, on one hand, is something I believe we should pursue to its fullest extent, as the idealization of the greatest amount of freedom for the greatest number of present and future persons. But, on the other hand, we should recognize that the decision-making process, even rendered as free and non-binding as possible, should still always be informed by reason and, hence, merit, in the form of individual experts capable of lending their expertise to other citizens, so that those citizens may offer their opinions in a state of understanding, not ignorance.

This is where meritocracy, and thus aristocracy, comes into play.

While in an anarchist society power structures have effectively dissolved, and all human beings are free to pursue their desires so long as they do not interfere with the freedom of others, the aristos are needed to stabilize such a society through the dissemination and clarification of useful information and lead as examples in a more effective decision-making process.

In terms of experts in the fields of science and engineering, such a system would emerge as a king of quasi-technocracy—“government by an elite of technical experts”.

To be clear, what I’m advocating isn’t “government by”, but rather, “exemplification by”. This is aristocracy in a more free and practical sense—the siphoning of reason from a class of experts capable of creating more informed views, and hence better at solving problems.

In simpler terms: A thorough education is paramount in a system intended to benefit individuals based on contract and mutual benefit; information is and will always be useful for the maintenance of any society; third, a society lives or dies based on its ability to adapt, made possible by the participation of skilled individuals and the use of tools, typically developed by those individuals.

Of course, it must be said that expertise is no longer merely sourced from individuals. Despite a worldwide culture of pedagogy, in the form of universities, and a slew of think-tanks manned by ostensible experts in various fields, the future may hold sources of information we can scarcely imagine. What began with libraries as a repository for human-consolidated information and has since developed into the Internet may take on a wholly new form as A.I. and machine learning become more and more capable and advanced.

I have not dismissed the idea that these machines, the progeny of humankind, may one day even surpass us in knowledge and understanding, and then will become an invaluable asset to us in the form of teachers and organizers of information and raw data. (That is, of course, if they don’t destroy us first, as Stephen Hawking and Elon Musk seem to worry.)

Whatever the future holds, so long as human beings remain individual in their personalities and autonomous and self-determinant in their desires, there will always be an opportunity for the actualization of the conscious experience. From birth to death, humans encounter every day their own, raw potential. This can give rise to aristocracy in the more inward sense, which I will address in Part II…

So, things came down to a big-brained ape from the African plains. Now, the world teems with billions and billions of people, come and gone. How many have lived? How many will? What will they think? What will they make of the world, and of themselves?

For every competent human soul that has graced our universe, there has been a paradigm unto itself. We are, all of us, philosophies on foot. In each one of us the world becomes recursive, looking at itself through the eyes of billions of years of evolution and cosmic development. From that recursion comes examination, and wonder, and then formulation.

Worldview (and view in general): It’s something we all have, in some way or another. You needn’t be a philosopher, mystic, or prophet to have one; and you don’t have to be a skilled orator or verbose writer to proclaim one. For many of us, a commonly held view of life is one which includes the general principles of decency and goodness and—I think most universal, and important—the pursuit of happiness.

However, some of us are more particular with our views… Sometimes, we take our views to a certain height. We magnify our views until a point so minute, and yet profound, is reached, that we can’t help but stand back, slack-jaw, and declare our awe to all the world.

This is the point at which otherwise “mundane” theories enter into the realm of the transcendent—the numinous sphere of heartfelt purpose, existential rapture, metaphysical ideals… “the meat of the matter.” In this conceptual space, you may very well encounter questions like “Who am I?”, “What am I doing here?”, “Why is this happening?”, “Why is there anything at all?”, and (perhaps most pertinent here) “What am I supposed to do with all this?”

“Enlightenment” is a vague term. (In many ways it’s one of the ultimate “for lack of a better word” words.) For most of us, in colloquial usage (similar phrases such as “The Enlightenment” (referring to the period in Western history) omitted) “enlightenment” refers to some kind of spiritual, mystical, or religious epiphany—a life-changing event… one which alters the “enlightened” individual in some fundamental, and ideally “good,” way. Most often this is regarded as some kind of change in the state of the mind, or consciousness, or in one’s fundamental nature or being. Depending on what one believes, such a change may (or may not) bring about a new set of values, or lifestyle, or an alteration in personal ethics and day-to-day actions.

Different traditions—whether you want to refer to them solely or separately as “religions,” “wisdom traditions,” “philosophies,” “paradigms,” “mystical systems,” “metaphysical systems,” “worldviews,” and so forth—emphasize different aspects of individual change as necessary, or at least preferred (a certain number of systems are not exclusive in this regard), in order to approach an ideal state of being.

Some systems which are overtly mystical in their nature include these lines of thinking in their approach toward what one might call “enlightenment”:

“O monks, what is the Absolute? It is, O monks, the extinction of desire, the extinction of hatred, the extinction of illusion. This, O monks, is called the Absolute”
—Buddha (Shakyamuni, Siddhartha Gotama), Samyutta Nikaya (Tipitaka)

Enlightenment as a religious or mystical concept arguably owes most of its popularity to Buddhism, in which it is known as bodhi(बोधि) , or awakening.

In Buddhism, an individual achieves enlightenment through insight and meditation, realizing impermanence (अनिच्चा anicca) and selflessness (the metaphysical reality of no-self, or anatta) and doing away with delusion (an illusory or ignorant experience of existence), thus being released from craving—attachments and aversions—karma (intention and causation in the Dharmic sense), and subsequently all suffering.

In a supernatural context, this equates with exiting the cycle of birth, suffering, death, and rebirth—Samsara—that sentient beings are bound to wander through throughout innumerable lives, andattaining pure tranquility in the state of Nirvana, which means “blowing out” or “extinction.” (i.e. “blowing out” the fetters of evil and suffering and [false] selfhood.) Buddhist enlightenment is preceded and/or followed by an ethical life, as well as the quality of boundless compassion, manifested as freedom from wrath and greed.

Some schools of Buddhism emphasize practicing specific rituals, or chanting and adhering to particular sutra, as a method of either gaining enlightenment directly or in order to be reborn after death into a so-called Pure Land, a celestial abode where one can be taught more about the attainment of enlightenment from enlightened beings themselves.

A dharmacakra, or “wheel of the Dharma,” symbolizing Buddhism. Each spoke represents one of the tenets of the Buddha’s Noble Eightfold Path. (Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.)

“The nature of phenomena is nondual, but each one, in its own state, is beyond the limits of the mind. There is no concept that can define the condition of “what is” but vision nevertheless manifests: all is good. Everything has already been accomplished, and so, having overcome the sickness of effort, one finds oneself in the self-perfected state.”
—Garab Dorje (Prahevajra), The Six Vajra Verses (Cuckoo’s Song of Total Presence)

Tibetan Buddhism, an esoteric, tantric, and cultural form of the Vajrayana “vehicle” of Buddhism, emphasizes expediency in attaining enlightenment through devotion to a spiritual teacher—or guru—ritual practice (including “empowerments,” self-identification with deities or bodhisattva, and visualizations) and deductive and inductive reasoning and insight during meditation.At the core of two types of Tibetan Buddhism—the collective Sarma (“New Translation”) schools of Gelug, Kadam, Kagyu, Jonang, and Sakya on one hand; the single “Old Translation” school of Nyingma, and the related religion of Bon (a curious blend of Tibetan Buddhism and other practices endemic to the Himalayas) on the other—are the mystical teachings of Mahamudra (Sanskrit for “Great Seal”) and Dzogchen (Tibetan for “Great Perfection”—also called Atiyoga), respectively.

In both traditions, a disciple is lead by a master to the attainment of enlightenment by discovering the true nature of mind, which is the nature of reality—perceived by the adept to be clear, “vivid” and, importantly, non-dual.

Now, such an attainment is aimed for in all schools of Buddhism (and equated with Buddhahood, bodhi, and Nirvana), though the difference here is a unique and particular method (or set of methods) of practice, and a very specific focus on non-duality, which reminds one of the Vedantic tradition of Hinduism.

In Dzogchen, this non-duality is described as a “reflexively self-aware primordial wisdom” known as rigpa. Rigpais emphasized as being both “self-empty” and “other-empty,” (placing an emphasis on “emptiness,” or sunyata—of so much importance in Zen Buddhism), giving way to spontaneity and boundless compassion. Mahamudra places emphasis on both non-duality and bliss, but at their core the two traditions point to the same fundamental state.

A double vajra. The vajra is a symbol of importance in Vajrayana Buddhism, of which Tibetan Buddhism is a cultural variant. (Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.)

“To see nothing is to perceive the Way, and to understand nothing is to know the Dharma, because seeing is neither seeing nor not seeing and because understanding is neither understanding nor not understanding.”
—Bodhidharma, “Wake-up Sermon” (悟性論)

The phrase “Zen” is Japanese for Ch’an (Chinese), which comes from the Sanskrit dhyana, which means “meditation” or “meditative absorption.”Zen is a school of Mahayana Buddhism, and (as its name suggests) it emphasizes (simple) meditation and direct insight over other practices as the means to attaining enlightenment. In Zen, sitting meditation (zazen) is the traditional route of practice, and in certain schools walking meditation (kinhin) and other practices are included.

Rinzai Zen (a school of Zen associated with the monk Rinzai Gigen), moreover, emphasizes koan (Japanese: “public case”) practice (in conjunction with meditation—especially zazen), or the examination of Zen Buddhist “riddles”—in actuality more like anecdotes or dialogues—and monks of the Fuke sub-sect of Rinzai Zen (though now extinct) once practiced suizen (“blowing Zen,” “blowing meditation”), which involves reciting sacred musical pieces known as honkyoku on an end-blown bamboo flute called the shakuhachi.

All told, the foundation of Zen is mindfulness and meditation generally, and the tradition—while often formal in its rituals, especially in Japanese Zen (though these rituals are themselves often considered a kind of meditation, rather than being merely petitionary or superstitious)—ultimately boils down to awareness, non-attachment, and (as in other forms of Buddhism) the experience of emptiness, non-selfhood, and non-duality—thus reality.

Zen is clearly influenced by Taoism, and Taoist phrases like “the Way” (Tao in Taoism, though often used in Zen Buddhism to refer to the Buddhist Dharma, or Magga (“path”)), “the ten-thousand things” (万物 wanwu, meaning everything, the cosmos, or totality), “emptiness” (rendered as mu in Japanese, referring to the Buddhist sunyata, but similar in concept to (though not the same as) the Taoist emptiness of wu) can be found in Zen discourses and scriptures. The aesthetic and spiritual application of simplicity, naturalness, quietism, and an appreciation of the incommunicable (Zen, after its legendary founder Bodhidharma, is sometimes called the “silent transmission,” and “beyond words and letters”) can be found in both traditions.

Zen also largely absorbed a similar Chinese school known as Huayan (which survives as Kegon in Japan), the focus of which was the interpenetration of all phenomena.

The enso (Japanese: “circle”), sometimes used as a symbol of Zen Buddhism. (Image source unknown.)

“The Divine Mind is the Father who sustains all things, and nourishes all that begins and ends. He is the One who eternally stands, without beginning or end. He exists entirely alone; for, while the Thought arising from Unity, and coming forth from the divine Mind, creates [the appearance of] duality, the Father remains a Unity… Made manifest to Himself from Himself, He appears to be two. He becomes “Father” by virtue of being called so by His own Thought.”
—Simon Magus, Apophasis Megale (“Great Declaration”), according to Hippolytus of Rome in Refutation of All Heresies

“Gnosticism” is a blanket term for a group of old religious and philosophical traditions which (tend to) emphasize the dualistic nature of existence, divided between an evil or illusory material world, created and/or sustained by a figure known as the Demiurge—sometimes presented as a false deity—and a good or true supernal world, sometimes considered the abode or manifestation of a higher God.

Some of Gnosticism’s other common characteristics (differing between different sects) include a “divine drama” involving mythological or cosmological strife, as well as the emanation of divine beings known as “Aeons.”

Gnosticism’s origins are steeped in mystery, and it has been suggested that Gnostic traditions (including the Eastern traditions of Mandaeism, Manichaeism, and the religion of the Sabians) were influenced by Buddhism, Platonism, or Neoplatonism. Many Gnostic traditions seem to take part in an overtly Judeo-Christian narrative, however (e.g. the Cathari, Bogomilism—there is, in fact, a Christian Gnosticism), and Gnosticism overlaps with both Hermeticism and the Jewish Kabbalah in some respects, as well as various other Western esoteric/occult traditions (especially Luciferianism) and the quasi-Islamic tradition of the Druze, which it has no doubt influenced.

In any case, the point of Gnosticism is the attainment of gnosis (“knowledge”), or self-knowledge, a quality of self-realization and salvation equivalent with freedom from the mundane and unification with the supramundane, the Monad (“God” or “Godhead”), or “One.”

The sun cross (also called a solar cross or wheel cross, and the Sonnenkreuz in German) is sometimes used as a symbol of Gnosticism. Curiously, it has also been used as an astrological and astronomical symbol for Earth (or Gaia, if you want to go with the Greek), as well as German paganism and neo-paganism, the völkisch German Faith Movement of the Nazi era, and white nationalism and separatism. (Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.)

“If then you do not make yourself equal to God, you cannot apprehend God; for like is known by like. Leap clear of all that is corporeal, and make yourself grown to a like expanse with that greatness which is beyond all measure… Think that for you too nothing is impossible; deem that you too are… able to grasp all things in your thought… make yourself higher than all heights and lower than all depths; bring together in yourself all opposites of quality… think that you are everywhere at once… think that you are not yet begotten, that you are in the womb, that you are young, that you are old, that you have died, that you are in the world beyond the grave; grasp in your thought all of this at once, all times and places, all substances and qualities and magnitudes together; then you can apprehend God.”
—Hermes Trismegistus (“Thrice-great[est]”), Hermetica (Corpus Hermeticum)

“Hermeticism” is a bit of a blanket term (though not as broad as “Gnosticism,” I’d wager), covering those traditions associated with the legendary figure Hermes Trismegistus. Hermeticism overlaps significantly with, and often informs, Gnosticism, and has also had an impact on the philosophy of Neoplatonism (which itself impacted Hermetic thought)—to which it bears certain metaphysical similarities.

Hermeticism is presented as a type of perennial philosophy (although the specific claim is that Hermeticism presents a prisca theologia, or perennial and universal theology) and has been promulgated in, or at least influences, the vast majority of Western esoteric/occult societies and systems of ceremonial magic[k], from the various Thelemic orders to the (appropriately-named) Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn and the Rosicrucians. It bears some similarities to New Thought, and (along with other traditions) has influenced various New Age groups and other New Religious Movements. (NRMs.)

Hermeticism, while obscure, seems to make its goal something similar to Gnosticism: unification with the “All” or Godhead. How this is achieved is another matter entirely… though the old Hermetic texts seem to suggest healthy doses of astrology, theurgy (ceremonial magic[k] involving the invocation of deities, spirits, or angels), and alchemy. These three practices are collectively known as “Three Parts of the Wisdom of the Whole Universe.”

“The one who loves all intensely begins perceiving in all living beings a part of himself. He becomes a lover of all, a part and parcel of the Universal Joy. He flows with the stream of happiness, and is enriched by each soul.”—Yajurveda

Hinduism is a religious complex encompassing a variety of faiths from Indian culture. In Hinduism, as with the other dharmic traditions (of Buddhism and Hinduism), individuals are bound to Samsara, or the cycle of birth, suffering, death, and rebirth (although in Buddhism there is no self, or atman, which is reincarnated, whereas in Hinduism there is), though it is believed that one can exit this cycle.

Enlightenment and liberation from Samsara is known as moksha in Hinduism. (As well as Jainism.) In order to attain moksha, an individual must unite (or reunite) their self (atman) with the supreme self, Brahman (a kind of panetheistic, panentheistic, and monistic force or entity—also called the “world soul“—though different schools of Hinduism view Brahman (and deities generally) differently).

Certain discrepancies in the method[s] for attaining moksha exist among different Hindu sects or styles of Hindu and Indian philosophy and mysticism (such as the Advaita, Dvaita, Vishistadvaita schools), with some emphasizing metaphysical particularities (e.g. the duality of self and God (Ishvara), the unity of self and God, and so forth) and issues in praxis. (e.g. Is moksha attained by the practice of deity puja (devotion), yoga, or other forms of meditation or contemplation, whether overtly religious or merely contemplative and “natural?” Is it mainly found by the removal of ignorance (avidya), or by reasoning, or by ethical pursuits? … And so on…)

A Sanskrit depiction of the sound “Om” (or “Aum”), a spiritual symbol of the Hindu faith, and an important symbol in other Dharmic traditions. (Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.)

The swan is sometimes used as a symbol of Advaita Vedanta. (Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.)

“He who renouncing all activities, who is free of all the limitations of time, space and direction, worships his own Self which is present everywhere… which is Bliss-Eternal and stainless, becomes All-knowing and All-pervading…”—Adi Shankara, “Atma bodha” (आत्मबोधः “Self knowledge”)

Vedanta is one of the six orthodox schools of Hindu philosophy, a spiritual system largely concerned with the relationship between the aforementioned atman (self) and Brahman (supreme self). The Advaita (advaita meaning “not-two”) sect of Vedanta philosophy—of which there are at least ten, all with their own particularities, and all worth exploring as mystical systems (though I’ll only write about one here)—is perhaps best known.

Advaita in particular lends itself to the mystical notion of non-duality. (Similar to many schools of Buddhism, and especially the Mahayana schools of Zen and Huayan, and the mystical disciplines of Dzogchen and Mahamudra.)

“One who knows the self knows the world. He who knows the external world, knows the self also.”—Mahavira, Acharanga Sutra (from the Jain Agamas)

Jainism is a Dharmic tradition, similar to both Buddhism and Hinduism, which eschews the notion of deities (like (much of) Buddhism, though unlike Hinduism) while adhering to a cosmology of reincarnation (via karma) and the attainment of freedom and bliss (moksha) by the soul (jiva) through renunciation and non-harm (ahimsa). (Also on par with the views of Hinduism and Buddhism, though Hinduism promotes the notion of a soul or self (atman) which ought to reunite with the world-spirit or higher self (Brahman), whereas Buddhism disavows this notion in favor of no-self (anatta) and the “extinction” of Nirvana.

Jainism, while maintaining the concept of atman, has no concept of Brahman. However, Jains—practitioners of Jainism—share with Buddhists and Hindus the idea of Samsara. Jains worship and seek to follow in the footsteps of enlightened beings known as jina (“conquerors”), the most important of which are thirtankara (“ford makers”), who, like buddhas, declare the dharma (“truth,” “reality”) and illuminate the way to enlightenment.

Jains pursue right faith, right knowledge, and right conduct (very similar to three of the tenets of the Buddha’s Noble Eightfold Path), through compassion, non-harm (which cannot be stressed enough in Jainism), meditation, and usually some form of asceticism (all of which is incumbent upon Jain monks or ascetics.)

Jains believe that with the freedom of the soul, attained by the shedding of karma, comes omniscience (kevala jnana), a view shared by some practitioners of Buddhism and Hinduism. One of the most important concepts of Jainism is Anekantevada, or the multiplicity of views (and the relativeness of truth or reality), similar in thought to Taoism, some forms of Buddhism (cf. “right view,” “two truths doctrine”) Hinduism, and many other mystical traditions.

It should be noted here that there are essentially two forms of Taoism, at least to contemporary thinkers. (Although some say this kind of categorization is little more than a convenience for Westerner thinkers.) On one hand, there is Taoism as a codified religion, complete with dogma, rituals, and lay practices (sometimes called daojiao)—many of which overlap with Chinese folk/popular religion (some call this “Chinese native religion” (民俗宗教 mínsú zōngjiào), others (in the West) “Shenism,” and still others “Shendao” (神道 Shéndào, “Way of the Gods”)), and between which there is sometimes no hard distinction. (Chinese religiosity has long been characterized by a syncretic melding of philosophies and religious practices.) On the other hand, there is Taoism as a spiritual philosophy or way of life (daojia), based on the fundamental tenets laid down in Laozi’s (the legendary and putative “founder” of Taoism) Tao Te Ching and Zhuangzi’s (arguably one of the most important Taoist sages, alongside Laozi) eponymous work. (The Zhuangzi.)

In Taoism, the enlightened individual is traditionally known as a zhenren (真人 “authentic person,” “perfect person,” “real person”), or “sage.” (The term xian (“immortal,” “transcendent”) is also used in certain contexts.) In Taoism, sagacity comes to one who has attained to, or lives in accordance with the Tao (meaning “the Way,” “way,” “path,” or “principle”), which is the source, essence, and end of all things—nature in its most fundamental, inscrutable form—beyond being and non-being.

Taoism, like Zen Buddhism (which it heavily influenced), oftentimes—if not more so than its Buddhist counterpart—points to simplicity and naturalness as part of the enlightened way of life. It would not be an exaggeration to suggest that Taoism (at least in its more purely philosophical forms), if it could, would prefer to have no name, its “followers” no designation, and its philosophy scarce in the way of explanation. (Granted, one might suggest this to be the case with many mystical traditions and philosophies, which oftentimes point to themselves as manifestations of self-evident principles.)

One very important concept in Taoist philosophy is the aforementioned wu (emptiness), which by extension allows for the (also aforementioned) wanwu (often translated as “ten thousand things” or “myriad things”), as well as wu wei (often translated as “effortless action” or “action through inaction.”) The wu of Taoism is distinct from the sunyata of Buddhism, though the two concepts do share certain similarities.

Briefly: Wanwu is that without limit—all, everything, totality, and so on. In the Tao Te Ching it is explained that the Tao itself is the progenitor of the ten thousand things.

Wu wei literally means “non-doing,” implying actions which are “natural,” or done without struggle or unnecessary effort, thus rendering them simple, efficient, and (importantly) in accordance with the Tao.

A taijitu, also called a “yin yang,” a well-known symbol of Taoism. (Image source unknown.)

“The Supreme and Complete Ritual is… the Invocation of the Holy Guardian Angel; or, in the language of Mysticism, Union with God.”
—Aleister Crowley (“Master Therion”), Magick in Theory and Practice

Thelema is a philosophical-religious-spiritual system consolidated and developed by the British mystic Aleister Crowley. Thelema makes use of Eastern and Western esoteric (occult) philosophies, practices, and religious systems, and incorporates vivid metaphors and concepts into a rich complex of mystical, perennial wisdom.

In Thelema, “enlightenment” equates firstly to the gnosis or “knowledge and conversion” of the “Holy Guardian Angel,” (HGA) a metaphor for the attainment of higher consciousness or “true self.” Paralleling the notion of the HGA is the atman of Hinduism, the augoeides (“luminous body” or “body of light”) of the Greeks (specifically the neo-Platonist Iamblichus), the genius (inner divine nature) of the Romans (and the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn), the daemon of Gnosticism, and (I would wager) the tathagatagarbha (“Buddha Nature”) of the Mahayana (although one should remember that anatta, or non-self (or non-essence), is a cornerstone of Buddhist thought, and that sunyata—emptiness—is the ultimate aspect of all things in Mahayana Buddhism), as well as the (somewhat related) Dharmakaya.

Crowley called the Holy Guardian Angel the “Holy of Holies” and the “silent self,” and its knowledge and conversation “The Single Supreme Ritual.” In Liber Samekh, Crowley writes of the aspirant that “He identifies his Angel with the Ain Soph, and the Kether thereof; one formulation of Hadit in the boundless Body of Nuith.” To clarify: Ain Soph (Einsof) is the endless Godhead of the Kabbalah (ein or ayin means “nothing,” “nothingness,” or “without;” sof or soph means “end” or “limitation;” hence “endless” or “without end”); Kether is the “Crown” of attainment, wherein the aspirant identifies him- or herself with the Kosmos and the “divine will;” and Hadit being one formulation “in the boundless Body of Nuith” refers to the manifestation of one phenom, one’s true self (Hadit, the “the flame that burns in every heart of man, and in the core of every star”—a single point of experience), from the wellspring of All and Absolute (Nuit, the night sky—all possible experiences), and ultimately not different from this All and Absolute.

Secondly, “enlightenment” in Thelema refers to the True Will and its enactment—what Crowley refers to in Liber II as “Nirvana, only dynamic instead of static…” Not only does one need to discover one’s truest nature, but also one’s ultimate purpose or destiny, one’s absolute self-determination as it is aligned with the “will of God” (cf. Liber II) and the “inertia of the universe.” More importantly, one must carry out this Will with “(a) one-pointedness, (b) detachment, [and] (c) peace.” As Crowley writes, “Then, and then only, art thou in harmony with the Movement of Things.”

In the Thelemic order of the A∴A∴, beautiful ecstatic symbolism is used to illustrate the pursuit of enlightenment, as per the Kabbalah: For those within the order, the spiritual stage in which one attains selflessness, or ego-death, is known as the “Night of Pan.” (cf. anatta.) Within the Night of Pan lies the City of Pyramids, where the consciousness of the adept who has attained the knowledge and conversation of her or his Holy Guardian Angel comes to rest after crossing the spiritual void of the “Abyss.” This attainment equates to the mystical grade of Magister Templi, or 8=3.

“Is there such a thing as absolute truth in the hands of any one party or man? Reason answers, “there cannot be.” There is no room for absolute truth upon any subject whatsoever, in a world as finite and conditioned as man is himself. But there are relative truths, and we have to make the best we can of them.”
—Madame Helena P. Blavatsky, Lucifer

“Theosophy” is, like many phrases—as we’ve established—in the parlance of mysticism and spirituality, another broad term. However, we can safely say that it refers to any number of systems which attempt to unveil the nature of “divinity,” traditionally connected to Hermeticism, the Kabbalah, Neoplatonism, and esoteric Christianity.

In modern times, the phrase “Theosophy” has come to be nearly synonymous with the Theosophical Society, an organization founded in the 19th century by the occultists Helena P. Blavatsky (often referred to as “Madame Blavatsky”) and William Quan Judge and their colleague [Colonel] Henry Steel Olcott—an American writer and one of the first Westerners known to have converted to Buddhism.

The Theosophical Society regards Theosophy as a kind of (again) perennial philosophy: As William Q. Judge writes in his Ocean of Theosophy, “Theosophy is that ocean of knowledge which spreads from shore to shore of the evolution of sentient beings; unfathomable in its deepest parts, it gives the greatest minds their fullest scope, yet, shallow enough at its shores, it will not overwhelm the understanding of a child. . . Theosophy is a scientific religion and a religious science.” (This last sentence reminds one very much of the aforementioned Thelemic A∴A∴—which bases itself on the philosophy of “Scientific Illuminism”—whose motto is “The method of science, the aim of religion.”) Also, according to the Theosophical Society in America’s website, “Theosophy holds that all religions are expressions of humanity’s effort to relate to one another, to the universe around us, and to the ultimate ground of Being… Theosophy is not itself a religion, although it is religious, in being concerned with humanity’s effort to relate to ultimate values… Theosophists profess various [sic] of the world’s religions… Some have no religious affiliation.”

At its inception, the Theosophical Society’s stated goals included forming a “nucleus of the universal brotherhood of humanity without distinction of race, creed, sex, caste, or colour;” (NOTE: This reminds the author very much of the tenets of the Baha’i faith… but more on that another time) encouraging the study of comparative religion, philosophy, and science; exploring “the unexplained laws of nature and the powers latent in man;” and to form a non-sectarian, non-doctrinal, and investigative spiritual organization more generally.

However, while it attempts to remain universal and undogmatic, the Theosophical Society has allowed itself, over time, to make at least a few specific metaphysical assumptions. Among these is the acceptance of reincarnation, that reincarnation occurs in accordance with the law of karma, and that it is “the natural method by which the soul learns its lessons…” (confer Dharmic teachings on reincarnation and karma); the acceptance that “life and consciousness are present in all matter, in different degrees of expression;” (confer animism and panpsychism) and that there exist “seven principles of man” or “Septenary” (the Society has established the esoteric and cosmological importance of the number seven, moreover) which, according to Theosophist Charles J. Ryan, “may best be regarded, perhaps, as various stages or points of contact between the permanent center in each individual and the “planes” or grades of substance and consciousness in the universe, which stretch from the most ethereal or spiritual downward to gross matter…”

Many Theosophists practice yoga as a form of spiritual development, attempting to attain to self-realization and the unveiling of what one may otherwise call the Absolute or Godhead. Helena Blavatsky herself reccomended jñana yoga for Western seekers as a method for gaining deeper understanding of the meaning of life.

Even a cursory examination of the enlightenment-traditions of the world—those systems of thought which teach a transformative ultimatum, whatever one may call it—exposes a deep and ineffable universality beneath the shallow surface of custom, culture, religion, and rite.

Where do these traditions intersect, and can their commonalities be distilled into a core tenet or concept which is altogether useful, rational, and numinous? Can they direct us to those states of transformation or realization necessary to live out the sentient condition in its fullest capacity?

The Blue Marble, a famous photograph of Earth taken by the crew of the Apollo 17 spacecraft in 1972. (Photo source unknown.)

I was raised a Catholic. As it is, I don’t much go to church anymore. (Mea culpa.) On Sundays now I’m more apt to sit in front the window in my kitchen, drinking coffee and waiting for the peculiarities of life to bubble up from out of where only God himself knows.

Every Sunday, at church, there was a long procession down the center aisle, under a colorful velvet light that flooded in through the stained glass on either side of the sanctuary. Smoke wafted from the acolyte’s censer and projected translucent shadows onto the walls. Then the priest, at the helm of the procession, halted in front of the altar, and the liturgy was spoken and intoned.

Then, about two thirds of the way through the Mass, after the reciting of the Lord’s Prayer, the priest would say an embolism. In Latin it used to go, “Libera nos, quæsumus, Domine, ab omnibus malis, da propitius pacem in diebus nostris…” Since the 60s a less literal version of the English translation has been used:

“Deliver us, Lord, from every evil, and grant us peace in our day…” Every Sunday he said that without fail.

My little trepidations and larger concerns were, at one point in my life, overshadowed by an unshakable faith. After all, what’s on the news, or beyond the horizon, or down the street that can stand against a firm sense of religion?

God is a bulwark for the mind. That I quickly came to realize. I understood, though I was young then, that the world could be harsh, and sometimes so harsh, in fact, that only its creator and superior could circumvent disaster. Thus, he could also intervene in the mind. What was there to fear, then? What could happen to me or anyone else that divinity couldn’t rectify?

Of course, people change. People are always changing.

So it was at some point, now vague in my memory—sometime in adolescence—that my faith was shaken. I can’t really remember what lead me to my current outlook, or why, but that’s beside the point, anyway. I have since understood, in my own way, that God doesn’t deliver us from every evil. Very much the contrary, actually: In fact, evil seems to be closing in at every turn.

The insistence is always that, as we humans are now the masters of our destiny, and that we have within our power the ability to create something that at least approaches utopia.

Yet the reverse is hard to ignore: We are the “masters” of our collective fate inasmuch as a heroin addict is of his individual one. Let’s own up to the facts: We are myopic creatures, addicted to our own greed, wrath, and ignorance. We are the supposed stewards of this planet, but our bang-up job has so far consisted of an unconscionable destruction of the world’s ecology and a destabilization of the climate which makes it humanly habitable in the first place.

We are the makers of the Anthropocene, a time when, as they say, “with great power comes great responsibility,” and more than ever that being true. The ability (and incentive) to act responsibly on a global scale is being crippled, however, as governments falter under the pressure to preserve what’s left for a world that consumes and pollutes and reproduces with unbridled apathy toward an inevitable and unspeakable outcome. And, while some positive steps are being taken—e.g. COP21, the historic climate agreement that took place in Paris this past December—I’m left to wonder how effective these will really prove over time.

My news for you is this: God is not coming to save us in the event of a massive disaster, whether it’s a protracted problem like anthropogenic climate change; or a relatively sudden one, such as a nuclear attack. There is no deus ex machina built into the equation of human flourishing, or even the basic survival of species. Pray to whatever being you please, asking for “peace in our day.” (I am not debating the existence of a deity, benevolent or otherwise. On that matter I’m agnostic.) But the fact remains that nearly all of the creatures which have, at one point or another, called this planet home, have gone extinct, and neither we nor our cherished way of life are immune to the same fate.

Peace neither of mind, nor in the world at large, has ever been guaranteed. Throughout history all manner of turmoils have been commonplace. It is at this pivotal junction in the story of the human race that we may either choose prosperity or destruction, love or hatred, greed or charity. If we have any concern for the collective life and flourishing of this world, we must act immediately and without restraint to combat the forces which threaten to undo everything good we have secured for ourselves.

I worry. I worry about the world and how the people in it will fare in the coming decades. I know worrying never makes up for action, and I was tired of never acting on my worries, so I put down the cup and decided to write. These words were born of that impulse, and from the desire for “pacem in diebus nostris.” That is, “peace in our time,” and, at that, for all time to come.

Henry Miller (1891-1980) was one of the more unorthodox writers of his time. He’s also something of a personal inspiration to me.

Any half-decent reader is aware of the man… but, then again, who could forget him? He’s known for leading a rather odd, and yet edifying, life, and is also ubiquitous for the development of the modern autobiographical novel.

Arguably his most famous book, Tropic of Cancer (first published in 1934) is one such work. The novel, considered obscene for its candid and humorous expressions of sexuality, was banned in the United States until the 1960s.

The highlights of this book (like many of Miller’s, including Black Spring and Tropic of Capricorn—both recommended) are, however, not Miller’s comedic sexual escapades, but rather his unique brand of non-confessional mysticism—a sort of artistic metaphysics.

Miller was something of a secular prophet, a clownish spiritual guru who taught that the pleasures of life…

This is a little thought on a literary quote by Maugham, published last year. (Early 2015.) While I initially wrote it for/on what was a school project, and otherwise a “throw-away” blog, I think that it’s still noteworthy, so I’m reblogging it here.

Somerset Maugham’s novel The Moon and Sixpence contains an interesting passage. The following is a reflection on writing by one of the world’s most famous writers:

“It is a salutary discipline to consider the vast number of books that are written, the fair hopes with which their authors see them published, and the fate which awaits them. What chance is there that any book will make its way among that multitude? And the successful books are but the successes of a season. Heaven knows what pains the author has been at, what bitter experiences he has endured and what heartache suffered, to give some chance reader a few hours` relaxation or to while away the tedium of a journey. And if I may judge from the reviews, many of these books are well and carefully written; much thought has gone to their composition; to some even has been given the…

“Everything one does in life, even love, occurs in an express train racing toward death.” So said Jean Cocteau, French playwright and filmmaker. Similarly, Marcus Aurelius, the great Stoic emperor of Rome, notes in his Meditations, “Yesterday sperm, tomorrow… ashes.”

I suppose it all wouldn’t feel so brief if time simply stayed at a regular pace.

Granted, this is a nonsensical statement, at least at first glance. How can time have a speed?

Actually, I don’t really think I need to spell it out. We all (or at least most of us) feel the acceleration of time, even if that feeling makes no sense when we try to translate it into physics. However, it should be rather obvious, just observing the simple math of it, why we feel this way: The longer you live, the smaller any particular unit of time becomes relative to the entirety of your life. In other words, when you’re two years old, one year is half of your entire life; when you’re fifty-two, it’s only 1/52 of your life.

What has always tripped me up is the fact that I don’t like to be rushed… I should also note that most things makes me feel rushed. Even if I have to do something in two months, the gulf of time feels as if it dissolves in a matter of days. At first it may seem as if I have some slack, as if I can shrug it off and say, “Hey, I’ve got two whole months,” but then things become a bit unbearable as the days, almost suddenly, turn into hours or minutes.

There’s that strange feeling in the gut, or the head, or somewhere… I’m not sure where it is, or even what… But it’s there: That your life has been an instant, and its contents seem “thin” or [thus] trivial, somehow.

A bust of the emperor Marcus Aurelius from L’Image et le Pouvoir: le sicle des Antonins at the Musee Saint-Raymond in France. (Photo courtesy of Wikipedia.)

I always say, in regard to myself, that it’s been something like “an hour between now and when I was sixteen.” It often does feel that way. Thinking of it, I’m reminded of a particular moment when time seemed to accelerate, surreal though that may sound:

I was in a buffet, in Waterbury, a city maybe forty minutes away from where I live. I was roughly thirteen. I think I was there for my birthday. I’m not sure. All I know is that somehow, for some reason, I associate the moment that I stepped up to the exit of the restaurant—glass double doors—with a weird contraction of time.

Since then, it’s felt like very little time has passed. And that was eleven years ago.

This is a paradoxical impression, of course, considering that, while often times the past, present, or future seem short, there are also those moments when life is actually quite long.

Maybe it’s just me, but sometimes there’s this creeping feeling that you’ve been alive a thousand years. I mean, again, logically that’s obviously no the case—but it feels that way. This feeling comes to the forefront of consciousness in the examination of remembrance, and especially in recalling something that you’d thought you had forgotten. One of those “oh, yeah!” moments, you know?

A freshly-renewed memory marks a particular point in time, and breaks up the monotonous blur that is often one’s sense of retrospection, and the general notion of what constitutes one’s life. Hence in that “oh, yeah!” or “aha!” moment, you’re compelled to do a double-take, and think, “Well, if I didn’t remember this [at first], what else am I forgetting?”

There’s another way of looking at the problem of “acceleration”: What if the issue isn’t something like “Well, time flies when you’re having fun” or (more simply) “Life is short!” but rather a lack of action, and ultimately a lack of contentment?

Perhaps the dismal feeling one has when thinking “Life goes by too fast!” really boils down to “I haven’t actually used my time wisely!” Even more so, perhaps it’s “I want more” or “I wanted more” or “If I had done this, that, and the other thing, that would have made me proud of myself, and confident, because I accomplished what I felt would have made me happy in a reasonable amount of time!”

That is to say, what we’re maybe, ultimately just looking at is a lack of fulfillment. I think we all have some notion or another that the materialistic, mundane tasks pitched to us by modern, consumerist society and culture—making a lot of money, or having a lot of sex, or being famous—do not really constitute the “good life”. We are, most of us, well aware of other things, things we usually think of as being nobler, some how. Things like love, and peace, and charity, and so forth. Even if we don’t pursue these as regularly as the former, and “fall into temptation,” as they say, we’re aware of the latter, maybe “higher” values.

Yet imagine a person of moral excellence. Even in the pursuit of upright things, is he not, at the end of the day, still itching for just a bit more time? Isn’t even the “good man,” if not afraid of death, infatuated with the prospect of life? Isn’t even the most miserable, suicidal individual, in the back of his mind, thinking “If I just had a happy life… if I just had the means, the time, to make a happy life… If I could just go back in time and start over…” Doesn’t he just want, if not more time, then a better time?

Experience is all there is for us, and experience is entrenched in time—intimately bound to it. All we know, as conscious beings, is “now,” and “then.” For every choice we make, no matter how pure or perfect or pragmatic, in its wake we leave an infinite number of possibilities—“what-ifs” and “had-beens.” And, what’s more, there is no real time to contemplate: Life is relentless, and the seconds press on with locomotive force.

Sometimes, in the midst of this barrage, it seems as if you’re juggling the entire universe.

Certainly, use your time wisely. But also admit to the fact that, in every moment, there are a thousand million ways to act.

Can you, in that moment, “perfect” yourself?

Can you at least try?

And is trying good enough?

As the emperor Aurelius himself said, “Do not act as if you were going to live ten thousand years. Death hangs over you. While you live, while it is in your power, be good.”

Movie still from The Road (2009), adapted from Cormac McCarthy’s novel of the same name. (Photo courtesy of Boomtron.)

“Participate joyfully in the sorrows of the world.”

—Joseph Campbell

I really don’t know where to go with this one. Suffice it to say I’m feeling quite scatterbrained lately, what with the horrifying events unfolding in our tumultuous world, and the lack of recognition they receive.

Let me just start by saying that this will be a bit of a more detailed rant, though one of a kind I think is needed.

I am increasingly at odds with the route global civilization has taken. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy the fruits of civilization—penicillin, microwave ovens, tequila, curry, the Internet, and movies, etc. etc.—but rather that the direction it has moved has become increasingly more and more dangerous as time goes on. Perhaps in order to bear those fruits.

Does that make me a hypocrite? That I see the problem rooted in mass-production (among other things), yet buy into coporatocracy?

Yes, we have many luxuries and conveniences, all born of the cooperative efforts civilization has won us—but at what cost?

We live with the delusion that these “hard-won” luxuries are everlasting, or at least long-lasting, but neither is true. The fact is that today’s society steals from the future, and exists at the expense of many future generations. (If they should live to see what has become of the world.) This is evidenced by an annual global resource overshoot, which occurs earlier and earlier each passing year.

We all, in our own ways, pursue freedom. And I think we should. The law of liberty is all-encompassing. Humans are hardwired to pursue happiness. But what kind of happiness would it be, should we not be allowed to fail every once in a while?

Problems arise, however, when so very many people make so very many bad decisions on such a regular basis that their pursuit of freedom, individually—in their own lives—is consistently irresponsible, and destroys the opportunities that would otherwise be afforded to future generations. The kind of food and water insecurity that unabated climate change will reap, for instance, will all but make sure that future generations do not have the time or resources to pursue their passions with the same level of opportunity, the same range of options (or “luxuries”) that we now have.

Let’s be clear about this, once and for all: Anthropogenic climate change, especially when compounded with other types of environmental destruction (overpopulation, resource mis-allocation and over-consumption, land degradation, pollution, etc.) represents the greatest challenge humanity has ever faced. The problem is so vast and multifaceted. It is one precipitated by both personal and societal choices, by stubbornness on the part of politicians, greed on the part of stockholders and investors, selfishness on the part of individuals, willful ignorance on the part of corporations, and so on.

Anyway, in the spirit of brutal honesty and existential dread, here’s a little more data:

The United Nations’ UNFCCC’s COP21, a pivotal meeting to take place in Paris later this year (from November 30 to December 11), is intended to rein in humanity’s carbon emissions so as to keep the world under 2C warming (above the pre-industrial average) this century. However, current pledges by the world’s countries (INDCs, or Intended Nationally Determined Contributions) fall incredibly short of an adequate goal, perhaps by 19 or more gigatons of CO2. While all the world’s countries are expected to submit some kind of binding pledge, only a fraction (as of 9/11/2015) have stepped up to the plate, even though little more than 2 months remain before the conference gets underway. Current pledges (which aren’t even guaranteed to be carried out) only account for about 59.4% of global carbon emissions.

It’s also worth mentioning that 2 degrees of global warming may itself be considered quite dangerous, according to a number of scientists, including James Hansen (one of the world’s greatest authorities on climate science, known for raising awareness of dangerous climate change in the 1980s). It certainly wouldn’t bode well for Pacific island nations, many of which prefer a 1.5C goal—one that is essentially impossible to achieve without some kind of miraculous technology, or an unimaginable shift in global trends. Some of the world’s biggest emitters (including Brazil and India) have yet to submit an INDC.

All this being noted (though it’s ultimately a drop in the bucket compared to the larger reality of what we’re doing to ourselves and the planet’s ecosystems and climate—and I could continue on much, much longer), it is high time—it has been high time for quite a while—that the human race consciously shifts its patterns of consumption and pollution in a dramatic fashion. Environmental destruction can only continue so long. Our species is in the business of fouling its own nest, and frankly it’s damning to ourselves and all future generations. It’s reprehensible, dastardly, evil on an unimaginable scale. It’s us running up against the edge of our Petri dish, and only then wondering where the agar went. And this at the expense of almost everything we know and care for.

The horrifying reality of our situation comes down to this: ECOCIDE IS OMNICIDE. That is, you cannot plunder and squander away the very basis of your life, the source of all that sustains you, without destroying yourself in the process. There’s really no other way to put it. Yachts and McMansions just don’t cut it, especially on a planet carrying what will soon be 10 billion people, already stripped of many of its finite resources.

So, considering that humanity seems less than inclined to change its course, I think the best advice we can take—in these most insane and soon-to-be-awful of times—is to “participate joyfully,” as it were.

Of course, life has never been peachy perfect. We all suffer in our own way. But we also have the option to make the very best of our circumstances, come what may. If we cannot change our destructive habits, and will ultimately destroy ourselves in the process, we ought to at least do what makes us happy. Hell, we ought to be doing that anyway. That’s always been, if anything, the perennial truth. To again invoke Joseph Campbell, “follow your bliss.” Cliché, yes—I’m sure you’ve all seen an image macro, or side of a hippie Volkswagen, featuring that line—but as meaningful as ever. It has always been crap out there in some form or another, but that doesn’t mean we can’t carry a great light on our journey through the darkness. It doesn’t mean we can’t, at the very least, smile before the end—untimely or not.